As the months came and went, I was further socialized with my "peers". Children who talked and dithered about childish things. Dresses, operas, toys, and other inconsequential things. Though I should count myself lucky that these girls have yet to enter their "boy" phases! Ugh. I can just tolerate the talk about cute ponies and the childish teasing they do with one another; if they were to talk about boys, I am certain I would simply jump out the window to get away from them (a window on the first floor).

I don't hold that against them, they're kids! Of course, they're going to be childish. And while I know intellectually that holding them to my standard of maturity and intelligence is blatantly unfair given they don't have the knowledge of two prior lives to call upon, I cant help but find the whole arrangement tiring. Every day I spend no less then three hours in some group tutoring session. Separate from my magical training under Master Fandrel, these classes are to teach necessary skills that a noble should know. Some of the subjects I can deal with, literacy, math, geography, history, a dash of basic philosophy. Understandable subjects to teach given the current era.

As for the other subjects, the ones I've been told are "integral" to being a "proper lady"…well…

All I will say on the issue is that I am glad the tomboy Selene is in attendee to these classes, otherwise I have no doubt I would be the objective worst in those damned "etiquette" classes.

And now that I've had some time to acclimate to them, the girls that is, I have come to realize a sad truth. These girls aren't here to be my friends, or more accurately that is not the primary reason they are here: these kids are hostages. Oh, they might live in opulent conditions within the Imperial Quarter, have servants wait on their every need, but that doesn't change the circumstances of their stay. They live in metaphorical cages. Gilded cages where they want for nothing, but cages none the less; never too far from the Emperor's knives should their families act out.

Sherry Tyulei, daughter of a senator who holds great sway among certain political circles.

Zaynab Zabba, child of the ruler of a client state of the empire.

Miyu Formal, the daughter of Count Formal, ruler of one of the Empire's most important agricultural regions.

And last, but certainly not least, Selene Syagrius. Where do I even begin with her family? They are descendants of the first imperial dynasty, hold vast swaths of economically productive territory, and most worryingly have large reserves of manpower and material to wage war.

Each family is powerful. Each one can cause quite the headache if they wished to revolt against the Emperor. They would fail (maybe not the Syagrius family if they can draw out a conflict and force a white peace), but it would cost the Empire in both time and resources. With threats on nearly every boarder, some being of the Empire's own making, internal divisions can quickly balloon into something far nastier. With close family in knife range, these powerful people may think twice before raising their flags in open revolt, or be more inclined to supporting the current regime since their relatives would also be in peril should Sadera be put under siege.

On one hand, it makes a certain kind of sense. In an era (or its fantasy equivalent) where power flows along dynastic lines, it makes sense that holding a powerful family's children will ensure a great deal of obedience. There is also the added benefit that by raising and socializing said hostage (or guest as they might refer to them as) to a future member of the ruling class, they may be less likely to revolt given preestablished ties of friendship or acquaintanceship.

But on the other hand, I can't help but find the whole dynamic a tad distasteful. Now I am not so soft as to say that certain actions are "off the table" when it comes to preserving a nation's stability and integrity, but I can't help but find the possibility of this backfiring unnerving. Just because you put two kids together and tell them to be friends does not mean they will. Children will be children, and they can be spiteful to a fault at times. Spite can fester into intense dislike, or even hate, and lead to rowdy subordinates than compliant ones. Worse, since they know the rulers (or at least some of the ruling class) they gain an insight into their thought processes, what makes them tick or what buttons to push to get a reaction.

To my mind, despite how common they might be in this sort of era, these arrangements carry far to much risk for my liking. A problem with wholly hereditary rulership I suppose. You might be able to groom the next head of government with the correct line of education, but you're also stuck with them if they prove lacking. Monarchs can certainly have a place in a modern society, so long as that place is with their hands firmly off the controls of government. While I'd like to throw the whole institution of monarchy under the proverbial bus, even I can tell that my simmering dismissal is coming from my frustration with the actions of Germania's Kaiser then a standard Japanese or British styled constitutional monarch.

A though for another time I suppose.

--
--

"Damn it boy, you spelled the names wrong on this one as well."

"I- I'm sorry Master, I didn't know."

"I know that you didn't know, since you made the mistake."

"If you'll give me a minute, I will-"

"Just leave it- Leave it I said! I'll finish the papers myself, just get me some fresh ink and paper. They're in the back, behind the lock box"

"Sorry Master. I mean, yes Master."

"And remember to wash your hands, I don't want your fingerprints on everything…again."

"Yes, Master Rax!" I watched out of the corner of my eye as the boy rush out of Gaius's cramped workspace to the storage area in the back.

When I manage to get away (escape) the little circle of children that has formed around me, and seemingly clung to my hip, I took it upon myself to meet up with Gaius Rax on occasion as the months passed; slipping out of the palace in the same commoner clothes Julia lent me. I didn't have any real schedule or preplanned timing on my meeting, I simply showed up when I wanted to; but I was always sure the guards knew what I looked like to let me back in. Now that would be one hell of a problem if I was stuck out here!

I should probably get those guards something. They are risking their jobs, and perhaps their lives, to let me walk around unattended. But whenever I try and give them money, they decline, say their just "doing their job". They're hardly doing it if they're letting me out, but I understand the principle of the statement. Maybe when I get old enough to have my own property, I'll probably request they serve me and give them a higher starting wage as an unspoken thank you for their efforts.

The experience of talking with someone who has no idea who you are is relaxing in a way you don't really understand until you've been waited on, and babied, to the extent I have been over the years. As far as I am concerned, each second of freedom is worth its weight in gold (assuming you could weigh time)!

But back to Gaius, I've found he's actually quite the interesting man to talk to. While I do admit he is probably trying to find out who I really am based on my responses and inflections on issues, he is at least considerate enough to be upfront about it. More than I can say to most things in the capitol. These excursions also give me a peak into the life of the "common man"; as much as a literate, eunuch, record keeper could be included within the majority demographics of the nation.

"He's getting better," Gaius spoke aloud, breaking my train of thought. "I've seen grown men, five times his age, struggle with things he's picked up."

"Every time I come in here, it seems like you're frustrated that he's doing something wrong," I quip back.

"Oh that?" referring to his previous words, "He just struggles with the little things. Dote his "I"s, crossing his "T"s, not getting his fingers all caked in ink so that parchment doesn't look like some spotted abomination. He's got a long way to go, but he is improving; of that I have no doubt."

Soft footsteps alerted us that the boy had returned, holding a fresh stack of paper and a small bottle of ink.

"Master," he announced his return, holding out the items he took from the back; his eyes low to the grown in deference. The boy, Remus, was a demi-human; specifically, a "wolf-kin" like Reenes. He looked no different from a black-haired human adolescent, with exception to his heterochromatic blue-brown eyes, slightly elongated canines, a dog-like tail at the base of his spine, and had an additional pair of wolf ears on the top of his head.

When I first met the kid, the boy was a wreck. Imagine my surprise when I came face to face with this newly bought slave who was slightly older than I was. A gaunt, pale boy with dark rings under his eyes, and visible bruising across his body. When I inquired about him to Gaius, the man said he bought the boy for fifty soruda at the markets. Of course, he had to haggle the merchant down from one denari owing to Remus's age, physical condition, and lack of education.

"I'm not so proud as to admit I'm not as spry as I use to be," Gaius admitted at the time when I asked why he now owned a slave. "I might be fine now but give it a decade, or two if I'm lucky, and I'll start slowing down. Remus is an investment for my own future."

Even eight and a half years on, I still cannot wrap by head around the concept that human life can be bartered about like a sack of potatoes or cattle. While I am not so driven by emotion as to admit life is "priceless" or "invaluable", military leaders have always used a cost-benefit analysis to determine how many lives should be "spent" to "buy" victory. Naturally, good leaders, or at the bare minimum competent ones, will attempt to spend as few lives as possible to achieve their goals.

That being said, I will argue to the end of my days that free will is an important aspect of life. Self-determination, within reason, is a concept I have always argued for and will always champion. The limit to that being when one knowingly binds oneself to a contract or structure where all the requirements and expectations have been laid bare for all to see. A person can't just enter an agreement, whose stipulations and expectations were laid out in a clear and concise manner, then complain about the being hamstrung by said agreement later. This also applies to laws, even if a person doesn't like a law they are not free to break it then rail against the courts for imposing penalties upon them.

The freedom I believe in is freedom for a person to choose for themselves what they wish to do. Once you take away someone's freedom to choose for themselves, be they good or bad choices, then you cross the line into something I will never agree with. Self-determination, it's as simple as that.

Then again, maybe I am identifying a little too much with the concept of individuals being forced into labors they do not wish to by an authority claiming to be a higher power above them?

Food for thought regardless.

"Very good," Giaus thanked the wolf-kin, placing the things on his desk. "I don't need you for the moment, so go up to your room and re-read the passages we looked over last night. Take note of anything you have trouble with so we can work on that later. I'll call you if you are needed."

"Yes, Master Rax," the boy bowed, his ears drooping across his head from the weight of gravity. He made one short glace at me, our eyes meeting briefly, before he quickly sprinted up the stairwell to his (I assume) room.

"Boys will be boys I suppose," the eunuch chuckled to himself as he shifted papers around.

"Pardon?" I questioned. Not that I didn't understand the phrase, being a former man myself. I will admit I got into a few rambunctious acts myself when I was his age (in my first life) where all my mother would say to the affected party was that I was "just being a boy". Maybe standards are a bit stricter here?

"Oh nothing, nothing," he waived off his own comment. "But back to what you were saying, you mentioned feeling like a caged bird?"

"To a degree, yes," I picked up where I left off, before Rax went about chastising Remus about his grammar. "Not only do I have to deal with all those girl's incessant chatting about this fashion or other things that I care so little about I can barely fake my interest, but I feel as if I am hitting a literal brick wall in my magical studies."

"Didn't you say your magical tutor had promised to give you something new to teeth on?"

"And I am still waiting," I gave an exacerbated sigh.

"Have you considered that he might be purposefully slowing your magical education so you can focus on your more mundane subjects?" Rax raised an eyebrow.

"He said he wasn't when I asked him about it," I shot down that conspiracy theory. Admittedly, that was also the first thing that came to my head. But everyone in the palace, from the Emperor, to the other girls, to even the staff, know I am far ahead of my fellow 'classmates' in nearly every regard; the sole exception is etiquette.

Again, thank you Selene for being there.

My best guess was that Fandrel was desperately trying to get more material from Rondel since he probably came here under the assumption that I would not be a good mage to begin with. Even if it was the Emperor himself who sent for him, I have no doubt that my skills were greatly exaggerated; exaggerations that Master Fandrel no doubt caught onto.

Given the circumstances, how the Emperor was bound to overhype the first magic user in his family, it's likely Fandrel only brought the minimum amount of teaching material with him assuming I would hold only a basic skill in the art. But now that I've breezed through all the introductory material he had on hand, he's scrambling to get more material from the Academy he has in Rondel. This has left me in an awkward place, where I am forced to repeat the same basic exercises over and over again without anything new to add to it. It was frustraiting.

"Well, have you considered practicing on your own?" Gaius proposed.

"On my own?" I repeated his question.

"Isn't that what mages do? Practice their craft until they find something interesting? Experiment and the like?"

I hold in a chuckle, "it's a tad more complicated then that."

"If that's so, then take it from me, Miss Tana," Gaius leaned in. "It's far easier to ask for permission that to ask for forgiveness. And doubt there is something you've wanted to try for some time now."

I sigh, pinching the ridge of my nose. Gaius wasn't wrong. There was one think I REALLY wanted to do. Or more accurately, something a wanted to experience again. I wanted to soar across the skies once more. The unbridled freedom of flying, of feeling the wind bellow as I flew at high speeds was…something I need back in my life.

I want to fly again.

I had held back due to a thousand and one excuses I fed myself even as they answered themselves. But as time has worn on, I've grown more and more impatient. Yes, I knew that Fandrel had no reason to suspect that I am an above average mage who is living their third life now, but I just felt so constrained!

Of course, I learned from firsthand experience in basic training that flying without a computation orb is difficult at best. The best, they told us raw recruits, we can do without an orb, or some kind of medium, was float or glide. The mechanics around it was basically use magic to reduce your own mass, then use bursts of mana to propel yourself forward. It's horribly inefficient in terms of mana consumption, and unlike an orb that will keep draining mana for a flight spell, if the mage stops thinking about it for even a second, they will come crashing down to Earth; probably break every bone in their body on impact. If they managed to catch themselves, and redo the mass reduction spell, that would do nothing since they still have the kinetic energy from their fall to deal with.

Overall, it was taught to be a last resort type of spell to be used like a parachute; reduce your mass then blast mana beneath you to slow your fall.

"Oh dear, I know that sort of expression when I see it," Gaius absently noted my expressions. "Should I inform the fire brigades ahead of time, or shall we simply keep this our little surprise for the denizes of the Imperial Quarter?"

"I'm not going to set anything on fire" again, I mentally noted. No need to feed that damn smirk of his.

I left his office earlier then I usually would, I had things to prepare.

I could feel that this man is a horrible influence on me.

--
--

"- and I simply cannot believe the audacity of the boy!"

When Molt was a young lad, his father told him he would never understand how heavy the crown was until he wore it. At the time, Molt didn't understand how the world truly worked. He was short sighted and stupid. The Emperor is the Emperor, he explained to his father with all the logic a boy of ten could muster, that was all was needed to obey him. His father laughed, put a hand upon his head, and told him one day he would know.

If only the world were as simple as he though it was back then…

But now?

Now Molt was stuck with a man he'd sooner have drawn and quartered then be in the same room with him for any extended period of time.

Clovis Syargius. Or as he loved to introduce himself as, Clovis Syagius, Governor of Soissons, Breaker of Barbarians, Patron of the Arts and Natural Sciences, Blood of the First Dragon, and Master of the West by the Grace of the Gods.

But more importantly, as far as Molt was concerned, the most dangerous man in the Empire.

A few years Molt's senior, Clovis Syagrius was the head of the second most powerful family in the Empire. While the disparity between their houses was as vast as the ocean itself, Clovis was still a powerful man. He had three hereditary provinces to his name, some of the wealthiest in the Empire, with a fourth province on the cusp of being established and commanded no fewer than ten legions with an unknown number of auxilia.

Oh, he carried himself like a flamboyant, foppish, noble, garbed in bright reds and golds, with precious stones and metals adorning his form, but Molt knew this for the ruse it was. The gems that made him look like an opulent noble were all enchanted with protective wards and powerful magic; a benefit for being a "patron of the natural sciences".

That's what they call it when you have a small cloven of hedge mages in your city who produce magical good without having to go through Rondel or its Academy.

The most mysterious part of the ensamble was his cane. While he had no limp, Molt had never once seen Syagrius anywhere without that ivory cane with that blood red gem on the top. Molt's own mages had long informed him that it was also enchanted; but cautioned that it was to a far greater degree than the rest of his apparel. But the enchanted gear was not his primary means of defense. No, that honor when to his personal bodyguard.

The Emperor gave a sideways to George, Clovis's monster of a man who stood a pace behind where the Governor was seated. The man was a two-meter-tall giant, armed with a sword that was more a claymore than a mere blade and clad in a suit of glistening dragon scaled armor. With his body concealed in armor, and his helm obscuring anything but a pair of sharp golden eyes, rumors of what exactly this man was were rampant in some circles. Was he a dwarf giant, as redundant as the phrase was? Was he a demi-human? An orc or oger who was 'trained' to be civilized? Perhaps the giant was a not a man, but a construct of stitched together corpses powered by some form of black magic?

The truth of the matter, as his own agents have attested, is quite mundane. The man was indeed human, or at least looked human enough to not be considered a half breed. According to his men; he was simply a freak of nature, who's body was covered in some ritualistic scaring and tattoos that stood as a hold over from his primative background.

The story his agents had gathered went something like this: George was a barbarian from the far west that came into Syagrius's service a few years ago. Supposedly, he killed a dragon that was burning farmlands along the western territories. Sygarius brought the man to court as a trophy of sorts and gave him some honors. Yet on the eve of these festivities, the man's role as a bodyguard came into being. The giant had uncovered a plot to kill the governor and stood between Syagrius and a haryo assassin's blade.

Upon the creature's corpse, they found documents detailing a plot to kill not merely the governor, but his entire family; along with a list of collaborators and the location of other haryo in Soissons.

Syagrius responded with swift brutality. Safehouses were raided, collaborators in court were tortured to death, suspected informants hung from city walls, hamlets and villages who unknowingly harbored haryo were razed and had their populations enslaved. When word reached Clovis, from his new faithful bodyguard, of haryo influence within his own forces Syagrius decimated his own legions and purged their leadership. The man even got some of Molt's own agents in the crossfire of his crackdowns.

But when all was said and done, hundreds lay dead, but Clovis's power was more secured then ever; and the giant, George the Dragon Slayer, has stood beside his liege ever since.

Molt almost wishes the assassin had succeeded. If the entire Syagrius bloodline was dealt with, he could take the provinces and give them to his loyalists. The instability it may cause would be troublesome in the short term, but it would have his dynasty a terrible number of headaches in the future.

Such as the one he was experiencing now.

"The sheer audacity, Your Majesty." Clovis continued his rant. "You've given him a roof over his head, food from your table, tutors to teach him letters, and a future of comfort that few can ever dream of. And this is how he repays your generosity? Treason? I knew then and there, no matter how honeyed his words may be, he was a man without a shred of honor; a potential kinslayer even! The type of person no decent person should abide. And so, I took it upon myself to bring this horrid bit of new to you."

Molt had to keep himself from rolling his eyes as he listened to Clovis spin his tale. Beneath the man's friendly exterior, was the cold heart of a brutal tyrant who simply lacked power to enforce his will.

"This is a serious accusation," Molt finally replied. "I do hope you have some evidence that goes beyond a single conversation that only you and your personal retainers can attest to?"

"But of course, you Majesty," Syagrius motioned to his guard. The praetorian guards relexify reached for their blades as the giant took several steps forward. Anticlimactically, the Dragon Slayer placed several papers upon the Emperor's desk. "These are the letters in which he sought to turn me a traitor with pretty words and empty promises."

The Emperor brought the letter up to give the illusion of inspecting them, but didn't have to read a single word to tell this was his hand writing. The boy's tutors always went on and on about how refined his penmanship was.

If Kati wished to rebel, he would need Syagrius's support to even have a chance at victory.

Gods damn that boy.

"While I cannot say one way or the other if your accusations treason are true," Molt calmly lied. "The evidence shown does warrant a more in-depth investigation into the prince's activities. If this threat proves to be genuine, then you have my sincerest gratitude for uncovering this conspiracy Lord Syagrius."

"Your Majesty, please do not lower yourself to thank me. I am but a mere servant to the Empire, I merely did what honor demanded of me," the sheer sincerity in Clovis's voice almost made Molt believe he was genuine.

Almost.

--
--

Sometime later, after numerous other halfhearted pleasantries were exchanged and Syagrius and his guard were seen out, Molt was left in a conundrum.

Alone, with only his closest guards and trusted retainer beside him, Molt's thoughts drifted back to his father's words.

"So, it's treason then?" Molt wearily asked Marcus, his most trusted retainer and minster, his eyes not leaving the slip of paper Clovis left.

"Your Majesty?" the retainer replied, not understanding the question.

"How many of these did you say were intercepted?" Molt questioned, not caring to clarify his previous comment to the minister.

"Fifteen that we knew of, Your Majesty," Marcus quickly replied, giving the note a quick glance. "Sixteen now, I suppose. And the Eyes did caution that more could have slipped their notice."

"'It is impossible to be in every room' indeed," the Emperor quoted a prior report from his agents on the matter of these letters. "What a disaster."

The truth of the matter was that Molt had known of Kati's treason for some time. Nothing occurs within the walls of this city without him becoming aware; especially when it involved members of his family. He knew of Zorzal's abuses, Diabo's insecurities, Pina's gallivanting, Tanya's excursions, and yes even Kati's treasonous actions. The boy may be subtle, but he was hardly inconspicuous. Even without his Eyes trailing him, a simple observation of his actions at court gatherings was enough to caste the eye of suspicion upon him.

Kati's first mistake was associating himself with senators who are vocal opponents to Molt's polices.

His second mistake was approaching nobles who openly questioned Molt's authority over their lands.

His third, and final, mistake were these letters; most of which were intercepted. Sadly, for Kati's sake, not all of them.

The boy was too ambitious and smart for his own good. If he had just kept his head down and simply accepted his place in the succession, he could easily be made a senator or even a governor. But the boy had too much of his mother in him; a "simple" life would not satiate his pride.

A part of him respected Kati for that in a way; in an objective sense. It was only right for one to try and rise above their station and take charge of their life. In practice, Molt wished that Kati would have used that drive to carve out a place for himself rather than plot to usurp his throne.

Molt's initial plan to deal with Kati was to confront the boy and quietly deal with him. No public condemnation as that would only lead to questions of Molt's capabilities if it became public knowledge that his stepson was able to plot to overthrow him within his own palace. He would instead "reward" Kati with some position of prestige on the furthest reaches of the Empire; maybe something in the far east where cities get sacked as often as day turns to night. If Molt was lucky, the boy would be killed by some stray arrow and that would be that. Kati would go down as a tragic hero, a prince who died for his Empire.

But now that Syagrius knew, and had no doubt told his allies in the Senate, Molt simply could not sweep this issue under the proverbial rug. If Molt didn't openly punish the boy, or as openly as court would accept, Clovis and his ilk would come out of the woodworks and decry Molt as both weak and a hypocrite due to the Emperor's prior actions against treasonous elements in his court. And if Molt delayed his response? Then Syagrius would no doubt introduce his evidence to the Senate and cast Kati to their mercies, and receive praise not only from his loyalists, but also from Molt's own sycophants who were oblivious to the clock and dagger nature of all this and genuinely believe a plot against him was just uncovered.

But this whole fiasco brings up another issue his must face; succession.

Zorzal was his heir, but he was also a damned fool who cared more about gallivanting with his friends and abusing slave girls to be trusted with any real power. He'd probably bankrupt the empire within a year with Colosseum games if the words from his tutors was anything to go by.

And while Diabo had a better head on his shoulders, he lacked any sort of backbone to stand his ground when facing pushback of any sort. He seemingly wants to clothe himself in false praise, regardless of what he needs to do to receive it.

Neither were worthy of inheriting his crown.

What a damned mess…

If worst came to worst, Molt was hold onto power until grandsons came of age. Maybe one of them would have a better head on their shoulders then their fathers.

He still has to deal with Kati quickly, less that brat do something unpredictable like-

"…your Majesty," Marcus mumbled aloud. "I…ugh.."

"Yes, Marcus, what is it?" Molt replied, still trying to nurse his headache.

"The…uh…" Marcus seemingly scrambled to find the right words. "Princess is…just outside the window."

Which one… ah yes, Tanya. Did come back from her little 'excursion' in quite the rush and organized an impromptu snack in the royal garden's just beyond with her friends. He was honestly happy at the news; for as brilliant as she was, his youngest was too shy for her own good. Maybe all that prancing about as a commoner was giving her a bit more self-confidence? His agents did note she does walk with a bit of a spring in her step when she-

"Please, Your Majesty," Marcus repeated more urgently. "She is just beyond the window."

Molt saw that his retainer was pointing behind him and saw the other guards also staring as well. The Emperor rolled his eyes at the dramatics. If they were acting like this, Tanya was probably doing some magic trick to amaze her friends that seemingly also dumbfounded his own circle.

He turned to see what all the fuss was about, "yes, yes, my daughter is one of the greatest mages of our time, but what can be so-"

And then he saw it.

Tanya, his little girl, was just outside the window to his study.

On the seventh floor of the palace….

She wore something akin to those commoner rags his agents told him she wore. There was some kind of magical aura around her if the light that outlined her form was anything to go by. A hand rested along the arch of the windowsill from the outside, as if holding herself up from the force of gravity. Tanya noticed him looking at her. Her blue eyes, that seemed to hold a brighter shade of blue than normal, blinked.

Without breaking eye contact, Tanya let go of the stone outside and began to fall. His heart sank, but this feeling was only momentary, for she did not fall to the earth like a brick. She floated down; slowly, as if sinking to the bottom of a pool of water.

After half a minute, with the Emperor opening the window of his study to crane his neck down to watch, her feet touched solid ground once more. The aura around her vanished, and the other children raced to her side. The servants, guards, retainers, and beyond stared at the princess with astonishment as they tried to process what kind of magic they had just witnessed with their own eyes.

As Molt heard bits and pieces of their astonishment and praise from far below, all he could feel was the onset of yet another headache.

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